a crack in the armor
by harukkari
Summary: Beneath the pretty facade, you can see the scars. — Dahlia, Iris, Phoenix; AU.


**Notes: **Inspired by "The Fever Monument" on AO3. My favorite Ace Attorney fanfic, and possibly one of my favorite pieces of all time. It's written so beautifully but at the same time brutal and matter-of-fact, and I would definitely recommend it.

Anyway, Dahlia is one of my favorite characters (second only to Apollo Justice). So many people hate her, but I think she's really interesting. No one can be entirely evil, and I've always imagined her to have a loving side that she only shows to Iris. I hope I did the concept justice, even if it's AU. Hope you enjoy!

Warning for prostitution.

* * *

**a crack in the armor**

_Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep_  
_Dreaming about the things that we could be_

_..._

Dahlia sat in front of the cracked mirror and closed her eyes as Iris's gentle hands worked their way through her hair. Ever since they were kids, she had always loved having her sister do her hair. Iris would run the comb through a few times before braiding the top, like a crown, and letting the rest cascade freely down her back. Somehow, her hair always looked amazing in the end, silky and soft and beautiful, and Dahlia felt like a real live princess.

Her sister began to hum, as she always did while braiding Dahlia's hair. Her melodious voice and the soothing sensation of her hands working through her hair started to lull Dahlia to sleep, which probably would have happened if Iris didn't speak up.

"Hey, Dahlia?"

"Yeah?" Startled, she snapped out of her daze and sat up straight.

"Um..." Iris looked hesitant, but continued on shyly. "I was just wondering if you were going anywhere. You look really dressed up today."

The question hit Dahlia right in the face. For a moment she couldn't breathe, but she forced herself to answer nonchalantly.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a...date."

Surprise registered itself on her sister's face, quickly replaced by an admiring smile. "You're so lucky," she said softly. "I would do anything to be asked on a date. It must be because you're so pretty."

"Don't be silly, Iris," Dahlia replied honestly. "You're beautiful. You just need confidence in yourself." She couldn't speak over the lump in her throat, so she swallowed hard and tried to smile back, for fear that she would start to cry.

Iris seemed to believe her though, and beamed appreciatively. Dahlia was lucky her sister was so gullible, as the whole date thing had been a total lie.

"Here, you can borrow this." Iris picked up her favorite brooch from the table. It was pretty and silver and shaped like a iris, reminiscent of her name. Before Dahlia could object, Iris braided it into her hair and stood back to admire her work.

As Dahlia met her sister's eyes in the mirror, a heavy feeling of guilt began to take shape in her heart, and at that moment, she hated herself more than anyone in the world.

...

...

After Iris left, Dahlia took out her mother's makeup bag, which she had stolen from the upstairs bathroom. The evening was quickly fading into night, so she knew she had to hurry. She quickly applied makeup, sprayed on some cheap perfume, and returned the bag to where it belonged. Then she peered at herself in the mirror one last time, making sure she was ready to go.

Almost immediately, Dahlia flinched at the girl staring back at her in the mirror, who had flawless porcelain skin and wore blush, lipstick, and mascara so thick she could barely see her eyes. She was wearing her only dress, a pale pink one with lace, and she'd borrowed her mother's necklace and heels. She looked older, more elegant than she felt.

The girl in the mirror looked pretty, Dahlia thought to herself, then burst into tears before she could stop herself.

She didn't _feel _pretty. She felt fake and superficial, like a doll, and she still couldn't believe she was doing this again and again. Her family was poor, so she desperately needed the money. Even though she hated selling herself every night, she knew this was something she had to do. For her family, and for Iris.

Her own feelings didn't matter. She had already become used to this routine, after all.

She chided herself for crying and checked to see if her makeup was smeared, which it wasn't. Then she grabbed her purse, which was lying on the table, and slipped out of the house silently, so no one would know she was gone.

...

...

She was used to the big city. She knew almost every street, even the dark, dangerous alleyways. Those were where business was best, after all.

Dahlia took her usual spot at the street corner, and leaned against the wall. This was nearer the slums of the city, far from the busy, bustling main streets where people thronged. Few people ever roamed this area of the city, and here the road was only lit by dim streetlamps. This way, she would stand out clearly.

After a while, a car finally pulled up with a shady-looking man at the wheel, who grinned at her. She took a deep breath, then made her way to the car. When the window rolled down, she caught a whiff of tobacco, maybe alcohol. Trying to ignore it, she gave her best smile and informed him of her services.

...

...

Dahlia was a strong girl. She didn't cry when the man violated her, put his dirty hands all over her. For a while, she even felt numb, as if her soul had drifted away from her. She managed to hold back her tears until it was all over, and when she left with a fistful of crumpled dollar bills in her hand, tried to convince herself it was worth it.

...

_But baby, I've been, I've been prayin' hard_  
_Said no more counting dollars_

...

It wasn't until she had gone far, far away that she realized Iris's hair brooch was missing.

Dahlia found herself back at the street corner, searching for the dropped hair brooch. She knew she might have left it with the man, but she had no intention of ever going back there again. She knelt down on the rough cement to get a closer look in the darkness, brushing her fingers over cracks in the pavement. A part of her knew it was no use, but that didn't stop her from looking anyway.

Finally, after a long time, Dahlia gave up. She didn't have a watch, so she had no idea what time it was, and she could barely see the buildings around her. She straightened up and surveyed her surroundings. It was darker than usual, since she had spent so much time searching for the brooch.

She forced herself to stand and start back on the way to her house, wiping away the tears that kept threatening to fall. She felt broken, tarnished, like a used puppet. She'd done this a thousand times before, but afterward, she never stopped feeling dirty and sickening. Every time her mind tried to flash back to those times with the countless men, she made herself think of her sister back home. Her beautiful, innocent, pure sister. Iris was always so kind and generous to her, even though she had nothing for herself.

This, Dahlia promised herself, was how she would repay Iris.

She had just turned the corner, nearing the more populated parts of the city, when a car slowed to a stop beside her. Dahlia braced herself, thinking it was another customer. She didn't think she could make herself do it twice in one night, but to her surprise, the driver appeared to be a young man about the same age as she was, with dark, spiky hair.

The window rolled down, and he called out to her, "Do you need a ride?" There was genuine concern in his voice. He looked well-intentioned and professional, not like those strange men she always encountered this time of night.

She hesitated, but couldn't take it anymore.

"Y-yeah. Thank you," she replied, getting in the car gingerly and shutting the door behind her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, grateful to be somewhere safe and warm. She knew she must have looked like a mess by now, as her dress was wrinkled and the braids in her hair had become undone, but the young man didn't seem to mind.

He looked over at her, and the open worry in his face reminded her strangely of her sister. He looked like an honest man, trusting and confident, someone who would never tell a lie.

"What's your name?" he asked her. "I'm Phoenix Wright."

...

_We'll be counting stars_  
_Yeah, we'll be counting stars_


End file.
